


Premier

by Titch360



Series: My Version of Events [60]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 17:06:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18392663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titch360/pseuds/Titch360
Summary: Hollywood's elite are gathered in Gotham City tonight for the grand film premier of Chester Quartermain's Festival of Peril.  Story at eleven.





	Premier

Premier

 

December 8th, 2018, would go down in literary history as a red-letter day.  After six long years, and with no advanced press or warning, the latest work from international superstar novelist and notorious recluse Chester Quartermain was unleashed on the world.  The author had requested there be no mention of the new novel’s release until it hit store shelves, just to see if it could sell on its own.  The publishing company thought Mr. Quartermain was crazy, but they were just as interested to see what would happen.  Releasing a novel on a Saturday was a risk in itself, but it was also carefully planned.  While the 8th saw the release of the much-anticipated book, the 15th would see the release of the even more anticipated film adaptation of Festival of Peril.

There was only one reason the movie was more anticipated than the book.  A rumor had been floating around since the movie’s release date was announced.  It was a known fact that Chester Quartermain had been heavily involved in the scripting process of Festival of Peril, albeit through remote means.  Every actor on set, every director, production assistant, aide, and technical advisor had been grilled by the press, but all had the same answer.  Chester Quartermain had never set foot on the set, had never set foot in any production meeting, and had never visited the editing bay.  However, a note found at the end of the final draft of the script, which was written by Mr. Quartermain, stated the author would attend the Gotham City premier, and his identity would finally be revealed.  After almost a quarter century, the secret would be uncovered.

Tim, the ever-present monitor of social media, received an alert early Saturday morning that sent him running for Bruce’s bedroom.  Tim hit the door like he was trying to break through it.  The aged wooden portal bounced off the wall with a crash as Tim charged into the room.

“Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce Bruce!  Guess what?  Guess what!  GUESS WHAT!”

Tim went flying through the air, to land roughly, half next to, half on top of, Bruce.  Bruce’s eyes flew open in shock, and only his groggy state kept him from responding to the near-attack in a more vigilante fashion.

“Tim,” Bruce said warily, “Damian and I were out patrolling until very late last night, or very early this morning…whatever.  I didn’t get to sleep until nearly dawn.  If the house isn’t on fire, you’re going to be in big trouble.”

Tim smiled broadly, his mood not dampened one bit by Bruce’s attitude, “Come on.  Get up.  We have to go!”

Bruce turned his head to look at his third son, “Wait, _is_ the house on fire?”

Tim shook his head, “No, but we can’t miss this.  We have to go get in line, before the store opens.”

Bruce sighed and laid down again, “Tim, if this is some video game launch, why don’t you take Damian?  I need to sleep.”

Bruce pulled his pillow over his face, only to have Tim pull it off again, “It’s not a video game, it’s a book.”

“Order it on Amazon,” Bruce grumbled.

“Noooo,” Tim said, shaking Bruce, “I’ll wake up Dick and Damian, you get Jason up, and I’ll meet you in the car.  We have to go, now!”

Tim jumped off the bed, and Bruce asked, “What’s so important, Tim?”

Tim leaned over the bed and smiled down at Bruce, “Chester Quartermain’s new book releases today.”

Bruce’s eyes widened in shock.  _So, he finished it, huh?  Usually, he lets me read it before he sends it to his publisher.  I wonder if he let Damian read it instead this time?_

“Not possible,” Bruce said, “Something that big happening, there would have been announcements, news articles, something.”

Tim shook his head, “I saw a notice online from the publisher.  Per the author’s request, no advance notice was given.  They want to see how far they can go with word of mouth advertising only.  Come on, get up.”

Tim trotted out of the room and across the hall as Bruce sat up and stretched.  _I wonder when Alfred found the time to finish the book?  Damian never said if Alfred let him read any more of the work in progress.  Am I actually feeling jealous?  It’s being released, and I’m not the first person to read it this time.  Alfred has always given me a copy on the same day he sends his final manuscript to his publisher.  Oh well, this will be fun, too._

Bruce started dressing, but only got his pants changed before hearing a loud, “Fuck off, Asshole,” shouted from the hallway.

Bruce rolled his eyes and thought, _Well, Damian is in a mood today.  We did only get three hours of sleep this morning.  I bet Tim tried the same happy routine that he did with me._

Finished dressing, Bruce walked into the hall, to find Jason standing in his doorway, rubbing his eyes.

“What’s all the shouting about,” Jason mumbled, “It’s Saturday.  Can’t he just sleep without making so much noise?”

Bruce walked up to stand next to Jason and said, “That’s Tim’s fault.  Come on, get dressed.  We’re going out.”

Jason shook his head, “I’m going back to bed.”

Jason turned back to his room, and Bruce said, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?”

“Very sure,” Jason said.

Bruce shrugged, “Okay, but don’t complain when you’re the last one to read it.”

“Read what,” Jason asked in a yawn.

“Chester Quartermain’s new novel.”  Bruce smiled as Jason froze in mid-step.  “It comes out today.  Stores open at nine.  If we leave now, we can just make it.”

Tim walked out of Damian’s room, rubbing his cheek.  Bruce cocked his head as the young man approached, “Did Damian hit you?”

Tim blushed and looked down as he nodded.  “It’s my fault, though.  I’m just excited, and I overshot my jump onto his bed.”

Bruce cringed, “And?”

Tim glanced up, “Knees, to his stomach.  All my weight, center mass.  I didn’t mean to land on him.”

Bruce took a breath and shook his head, “Did you get a chance to tell him why you woke him up before he yelled at you?”

Tim shook his head, “No, I was too busy ducking and dodging.”

Bruce sighed, “Go get dressed, I’ll smooth things over.”

Bruce walked into Damian’s room and closed the door.  Damian was laying on his bed, curled up into a very small ball, and sniffling.

Bruce approached the bed and asked softly, “Kiddo?”

Damian flinched and wiped at his nose, “Why did he do that, Father?  That really hurt.”

Bruce sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Damian’s back, “He’s just excited, Kiddo.  He wanted to share it with you.”

“Why,” Damian asked, “Why is he so excited, so early in the morning?”

Bruce smiled, “Because Alfred’s new book goes on sale today.”

Damian sat bolt upright, with shock evident on his face, before cringing and holding his stomach again, “What?  Why didn’t he tell us?”

Bruce shook his head, “Apparently, no one knew.  The publisher sent out a message on Facebook this morning, telling the world that it releases today.  Did you get to read the rest of it?”

Damian shook his head, “No, only the chapters he let me read during the summer.”

“Hmm,” Bruce hummed, “He didn’t give me a copy, either.  He usually gives me a copy to read when he sends his final draft to his publisher.  He didn’t, this time.”

Damian leaned into Bruce’s side, “Do you think he’ll tell everyone else that he’s the author?”

Bruce shrugged, “He’s showing up to the movie premier next week.  I think he’ll let it slip before then.  Try to act surprised when he does.”

Damian nodded, “That’s right, we’re not supposed to know.”

Bruce squeezed Damian’s shoulder, “Come on, get dressed.  We’re all going out to pick up copies.  You and I aren’t supposed to know who the author is.  We can’t just rely on Alfred getting copies for us.  We need to support him.”

Damian climbed out of his bed and staggered to the closet, “Do I have time to shave?”

Bruce shook his head as he rose, “No, we don’t have time for self-mutilation this morning.”

Damian rolled his eyes, “I haven’t cut myself since I started using the electric razor.”

Bruce smiled as he walked out of the room, “Just get dressed.  We leave as soon as possible.”

After the family dressed, and Damian punched Tim in the stomach in retribution, at Tim’s insistence, no less, the family piled into Bruce’s Range Rover and headed down to the local Barnes and Noble.  The family paled at the sight as they climbed out of the car in the parking lot.  The doors of the bookseller were about to open, and the line looked orderly, but the line extended the length of the parking lot, rounded a corner, and disappeared down the block.

“Look at that,” Jason said.

“Amazing,” Dick said, “I haven’t seen a line like that since…well, since Quartermain’s last book release.”

Bruce spoke up, “Tim, Damian, go find the end of the line.”  The two youngest ran off, wondering just how far into the city they would have to go.  Bruce turned to Dick and handed him the car key, “Maybe we should hedge our bets.  We don’t know how many copies this store got.  Dick, there’s another bookstore at the Gotham Heights Mall.  Why don’t you two head over there?  Pick up six copies while you’re there.  I’ll get six here, if I can.  Just in case, you know.”

Dick nodded, “That’s a good idea, Bruce.  Let’s go, Jason.”

Dick and Jason left, and Bruce stared at the line.  _I really don’t want to walk to the back of the line._

Bruce pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Tim’s cell phone.

“Hi, Bruce.”

“How far down the block are you?”

Tim sighed, “A block and a half.  Is the line even moving?”

Bruce looked back at the front of the store, “They’re open now.  The line is moving, but slowly.”

“I hope they don’t run out of copies before we get up there,” Tim said.

Bruce could hear Damian in the background say, “What do you mean, run out?  You better not have jumped on me for nothing.  It’s too cold out here to go home empty-handed.”

“I thought of that, too,” Bruce said, “I sent Dick and Jason to the mall, in case they do run out here.  If they don’t, and everything works out, we’ll have a dozen copies at home.”

Bruce could hear Tim smirk, “Oh, good.  Christmas presents.”

Bruce started walking towards the end of the line, “Okay, Tim.  I’m on my way.”

Bruce ended the call, but didn’t get the phone back in his pocket before he got another call.  “Hello, Alfred.”

“Is everything alright, Master Bruce,” the butler asked.  “I went to wake you all for breakfast to find the house abandoned.”

“You know where we are, Alfred,” Bruce stated, “Looks like most of the city is here, too.”

“I don’t think I follow you, sir,” Alfred said, “What, pray tell, are you talking about?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, “Don’t give me that tone.  You know exactly what I’m talking about.  Why didn’t you tell me it was coming out?”

Bruce could hear the smile in Alfred’s tone, “There are surprises for everyone in this title.  Will I be seeing you anytime soon, Master Bruce?”

“That depends on how fast this line moves,” Bruce grumbled.

“Very well, sir,” Alfred said, “I shall hold breakfast until you get back, then.”

Bruce shook his head, “Don’t put yourself out, Alfred.  I’ll take the boys out for something before we get home.  You just prepare yourself for next weekend.”

Alfred sighed, “I will admit, I am rather nervous for the event.”

Bruce smiled, “Can’t stay with the car that night.  Now you will get to see what we put up with.”

“Yes, quite,” Alfred said drily.

Bruce saw Tim and Damian waving at him and said, “Okay, I caught up to the boys.  See you later, Alfred.”

Bruce put his phone away and stood behind his boys.  “We should have left Alfred a note before we rushed out of the house.”

Tim shrugged, “Yeah, probably.  We’ll bring him a copy of the book.  That ought to smooth some ruffled feathers.”

Bruce nudged Damian before the teen could give the snort that Bruce knew was coming.  Damian looked up, and Bruce gave him a look that said _don’t react_ very clearly.

 _Right,_ Damian thought, _I’m not supposed to know that a world-renowned, bestselling author washes my socks and underwear.  He could be doing so much more than waiting on us.  I wonder why he does it?_

“Did you ever finish the other books, Damian,” Tim asked, “I don’t think I ever saw you with them.”

Damian shook his head, “I finished them.  I have them on my Kindle.  I don’t think I’ve ever touched the physical copies.”

Damian smiled and pulled out his phone, “That reminds me.”

Bruce glanced over Damian’s shoulder as he brought up the Amazon app.  “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing,” Damian said sarcastically as he searched for the new book and proceeded to download it.

“Whose credit card did you just charge that to,” Bruce asked in a slightly demanding tone, “I know you don’t have one of your own.”

Damian reached over and patted Tim’s shoulder.  Bruce was about to snap at his son when Damian said, “Tim got me an Amazon gift card for my birthday.  I charged it against that.”

Bruce mentally wiped his forehead, “So, you’re not hacking for money again?”

Damian rolled his eyes hard, “I did that once!  It was for a good cause, and the person I targeted deserved it.”

Damian turned to Tim, “Do they still point out questionable things _you_ did when _you_ were eleven?”

Tim smirked, “First of all, I didn’t come into this family until I was thirteen.  Second, I’ve never done anything questionable in my life.”

If Bruce had tried to hold the laugh that comment produced in, his head would have exploded.  He threw an arm around Tim’s shoulders and said, “Oh, Tim.  This line isn’t long enough to rebut that point.”

Damian eyed his older brother craftily, “Is that so?  I knew there had to be something about you I liked.”

“Thanks a lot, Little Brother,” Tim grumbled.

“That’s a compliment, Tim,” Damian said, “Maybe you’re not the goody-two-shoes you try to portray yourself as.”

Bruce smiled, now with arms draped around both of his son’s shoulders, “Damian, your brother has a history.  Maybe not as colorful as yours, but it’s not angelic, either.  One of these days, you two should sit down and compare stories.”

Damian and Tim eyed each other for a minute before they both gave soft nods.

The trio rounded the corner as the line moved faster than expected.  The bookstore employees had planned ahead.  They routed the line directly from the front door, past a table with two employees handing out copies of the book from a mountain of boxes behind them, straight to the cash registers.  There were six registers, all of which were staffed and working as fast as they could.

Bruce smiled as they entered the parking lot again, “I should have just waited for you two here.  It would have saved me forty-five minutes of walking and standing in this cold.”

“Consider it your daily exercise,” Tim said, “You know you’re just going to be sitting and reading for the rest of the day.”

Bruce shrugged, “You’re probably right.”  Bruce then smiled, “At least it won’t be work reports today.”

A man with a tape recorder walked up to Bruce, with a look on his face like he’d just struck gold.  “Mr. Wayne, Tom Silver, Gotham Gazette.  Can I have a minute of your time?”

Bruce eyed the line, then the man, and said, “Thirty seconds, off the record.”

The man’s look fell instantly, “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Bruce replied, moving with the line, “Twenty-five seconds left.”

“Off the record, though?”

Bruce sighed, “I’m just spending a quiet day with my boys.  This isn’t exactly news.  Twenty seconds.”

The reporter still refused to turn off the recorder, “What brings you out today, Mr. Wayne?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, “The same thing that brought the rest of these fine people out on a cold Saturday morning.  I like a good book as much as the next man.”

“Is there any truth to the rumor that you are actually Chester Quartermain,” Silver asked.

Bruce threw his head back and laughed loudly at the question.  “I’ve been accused of many things, but this is the first time I’ve heard that people are actually throwing my name in to the speculation.  If you’d ever read any of my business writings, you wouldn’t ask that question.  I’m a businessman; creative writing is not one of my strengths.  Besides, if I was Chester Quartermain, would I be waiting in line in sub-freezing temperatures to buy a copy of my own book?”

The reporter sighed, “I suppose not, unless you wanted to see how well it was selling.”

“If I was doing that, I would come at closing time, not at opening,” Bruce shook his head, “Thanks for the laugh, Mr. Silver, but your time is up.  Like everyone here, my boys and I are just looking forward to getting our hands on the book.”

Silver sighed and put the recorder away, “Thank you for you time, Mr. Wayne.  Am I allowed to use any of that?”

“Off the record is off the record,” Bruce said, “Like I said, there is no news story in a guy reading a book.”

The reporter walked away, dejected.  Tim leaned over and said, “Way to ruin a guy’s day, Bruce.”

“You could have made up all sorts of stuff, Father,” Damian said with a small smile.

Bruce shook his head, “I could have, but people tend to believe me when I talk, whether I’m telling the truth or not.”

“Why did he think you were Chester Quartermain, Bruce,” Tim asked.

Bruce shrugged, “Probably just trying to sensationalize something.  He probably wants a raise or a bigger byline.”

“How farfetched a notion is it for you to be a famous writer,” Tim asked suspiciously.

Bruce stared at his older son, “Tim, you’ve read my writing.  How could that translate into a bestseller?”

“That’s business writing, though,” Tim said.

“Isn’t that kind of talent hereditary,” Damian asked.

“Could be,” Tim said with a shrug.

“Then why did I need your help with every one of my writing assignments for that English class I took last year?”

Tim thought back.  Damian was, and still is, a notoriously bad writer.  Tim thought it was a blessing that Damian’s girlfriend was very understanding, because most of Damian’s attempts at love letters either sounded like bad fan fiction, or thinly veiled threats and demands.

“Okay, so the Wayne family can’t write.  Still, though, Quartermain’s books have always felt familiar, and comfortable.  Like looking through a family photo album.”

 _If only you knew,_ Bruce thought.

The Wayne’s were just a couple people away from entering the store when Bruce’s phone rang in his pocket.  He put the phone to his ear, which was a mistake.

“We got them, Bruce!  We got’em,” Dick shouted over the line.

Bruce cringed and pulled the phone away from his head, “Geez, not so loud, Dick.”

“Yeah, but we got them.  All six copies,” Dick said happily, at a more reasonable volume.

Bruce smiled at his eldest’s enthusiasm, “Good.  We’re just entering the store now.  Come get us.”

“Wait,” Dick asked, confused, “You’re still buying more copies?”

“I’m not going to have stood in this line for nothing,” Bruce said, then lowered his voice, “Besides, there are reporters here.  I already gave an interview, then told the reporter he couldn’t use it.  I’m not going to give them another story about not buying a copy.”

“Right,” Dick said, “we’ll be there soon, and then we can go home.”

“Nope,” Bruce said, “Out to breakfast, then home.”

“That sounds good, too,” Dick said.

Bruce hung up his phone as the Wayne’s approached the table.  “How many,” the bored-sounding employee asked.

“Six,” Tim and Damian said at once, both smiling broadly at the thought of getting their hands on the new book.

They got their copies, each boy holding three, and were shuttled to the check out.

Walking out of the store, Bruce caught the click of cameras and the hint of flashbulbs.  He tried to keep his eyeroll in check as all three Wayne’s looked at the cameras.

Walking towards the end of the parking lot, Tim leaned over to Bruce and said, “Dateline: Gotham.  Local businessman buys a book.  Story at eleven.”

Damian snorted a laugh as a reported approached the teen.  The man called out, “Damian, is Chester Quartermain your favorite author?”

Damian did roll his eyes, but said, “He’s my favorite modern author, but I’ve always been partial to the classics.”

The reporter held up a camera, “Come on.  How about a picture of you holding up the book?”

Damian took a step closer to the reporter and spoke softly, “Why should I give you anything?”

The reporter looked confused, “It’s just a picture.”

“A picture you can sell, and one that will help your career.”

“That’s my job,” the man said, still confused.

Damian shook his head, “There’s one problem, though.  I know who you are, and I don’t like you.  I know what you do on Facebook.”

The reporter looked nervous, “What I do in my off time has nothing to do with you.”

“You made numerous comments of a derogatory nature on a picture on my girlfriend’s page, all because she is dating me.  We have complete transcripts of the thousands of messages that were left for her.  I have a complete list of your harassment of a teenage girl.  I’m sure the police would be very interested in what you had to say.”

Damian caught the way the man’s hands shook as he said, “It was all a joke.”

“No one’s laughing,” Damian said harshly.  “The FBI takes a dim view of that kind of behavior.  Or, at least, that’s what the agent told us when my girlfriend’s parents reported the cyber harassment.”

The man had paled dramatically, and Damian concluded with, “I believe you are in violation of a court order, requiring the media to stay fifty yards away at all times.  We can call this in, if you like.”

The reported beat a hasty retreat as Dick pulled up to the curb and the Wayne’s got into the car.

“Was all that true, Damian,” Bruce asked.

“Yes, it was,” Damian said, nodding, “You saw his reaction.  He knew he was caught.”

“Did Mike really call the FBI?”

Damian nodded sadly, “There were death threats in the comments on our picture.  He felt it was for the best.”

Bruce took a breath, then smiled, trying to lighten the mood in the car, “That court order you mentioned to the reporter expired six years ago, Damian.”

Damian shrugged, “Then get another one.  That’s a useful thing to be able to throw around.”

“That’s not a bad idea, Bruce,” Tim said.

“I’ll think about it,” Bruce said.

“Where to,” Dick asked.

“Breakfast,” Bruce said, “You’re driving, Dick.  Pick a place.”

Bruce could tell that Dick was smiling broadly, even from behind his oldest son.  “Not McDonalds, Dick.”

“Aww,” the man complained as he passed the turn lane he had been aiming for.

_After Breakfast…_

Following a meal that none of them wanted to admit out loud was on par with what Alfred would have made them, the family almost ran back to the Range Rover.

“Come on, Bruce.  Let’s get home,” Jason said impatiently.

Bruce smiled, “You didn’t even want to come out today; now you’re the impatient one?”

Tim reached into one of their four bags of books and started pulling out copies.

“What’s it called, Tim,” Dick asked from the front seat, waving a hand impatiently behind him, trying to get Tim to put a copy into his hand.

“The Cat Burglar’s Lament,” Damian said.

Tim eyed Damian as he handed a copy to Dick, “How did you know that?”

Damian hid his reaction at being called on knowing information he probably shouldn’t.  “Didn’t you look at the book at all while we were waiting in line to pay?”

Tim blushed, “Um, no.  I just wanted to get going.”

Dick gasped deeply from the front seat, causing everyone in the car to jump.

“What,” Bruce demanded.

Dick swallowed hard, “I think Chester Quartermain might have died.”

The car nearly swerved off the highway as Bruce took his eyes off the road and looked at Dick.

“That’s not funny, Dick,” Jason said.

“Look at this,” Dick said, holding up the book and pointing at the cover, “There is another author listed under Chester Quartermain.  See?  Chester Quartermain with Harry Quartermain, creative consultant.”

Bruce sounded confused, “That’s what they did with Tom Clancy’s books, after he died.  They listed the ghost writer under his name.”

“Who is Harry Quartermain,” Jason asked.

Bruce looked in the rearview mirror.  Damian was staring at the cover of the book in his lap, ignoring the conversation around him.  Both Bruce and Damian thought they might have a good idea about who Harry Quartermain actually is.

Tim’s look brightened, “You all saw the press release.  Chester Quartermain will reveal his identity next week.  He has to still be alive.  There is bound to be an interview.  I bet someone will ask then.”

Arriving home, the family scattered to find their preferred reading places, until Tim said he was going to change into something more comfortable first.  The rest of the family thought that was a good idea, and diverted themselves to their bedrooms.

Stepping out of their rooms in nearly matching outfits of sweats and comfortable shirts, Tim smiled at his family and asked, “Are we all reading together or separately?”

Jason laughed, “Are you asking for Bruce to read it out loud to you, like a bedtime story?”

Dick gasped, “Could we?”

Tim rolled his eyes, “We all read at different speeds.  If we’re all in the same room, we’re bound to get annoyed at each other for gasps or talking to ourselves.”

“He’s got a point,” Dick said.

“I call the recliner in the den,” Jason said quickly.

“Couch in the game room,” Tim called.

“Front sitting room couch,” Dick said.

Bruce shook his head as his older sons ran downstairs to claim their spots.  He smiled at Damian, who was holding three copies of the new book.  “Planning on reading all those at once?”

Damian shook his head, “One’s for me, one is for Alfred, and one is for him to sign, so I can send it to Robin.”

 _I thought so.  He’s going to question Alfred._   “Looking for an answer to the question of the day?”

“I didn’t do that much, Father,” Damian said, “We just talked.  If I’m Harry Quartermain, why would he put me on the cover?”

“Alfred likes you,” Bruce said, “You’re the first one he’s allowed to help him in writing his books.  Maybe you were more of a help than you realize?”

Damian sighed, then headed for the stairs, “Where will you be, Father?”

“Couch in my study,” Bruce said with a smile.

“See you there,” Damian said as he disappeared down the stairs.

_Downstairs…_

Alfred smiled at the knock on the door to his rooms.  “Come in, Master Damian.”

Damian peeked around the door before walking into the room and closing the door behind him.  “I really shouldn’t be surprised that you knew it was me.”

Alfred smiled and patted the chair opposite of his, “I’ve been expecting this visit since I was informed where you spent your morning.”  Alfred eyed the books held under Damian’s arm, “How many copies did you buy?”

Damian took a seat and set the three books he was carrying on the table, “Twelve.  Father split us up between two different stores, in case one ran out.  Neither did.  We bought one for you, to keep up appearances.”

Alfred slid a copy off the top of the stack and smiled at the cover, “Thank you.  I hadn’t seen a retail copy yet.  The cover looks good.”

“Speaking of the cover,” Damian said, “We were all wondering about your creative consultant.  Is he a relative of Mr. Quartermain?”

Alfred gave a warm smile, “I would be very proud, and very honored, if he were.”

“Why, Alfred,” Damian asked, “Why put that on the cover?”

“You were very instrumental in the development of this book.  Your input broke almost two years of writer’s block, and allowed me to move on towards completion.  Your assistance helped me to finally move on.  You see, after the grand reveal of Chester Quartermain next week, there will be a second reveal.  The Cat Burglar’s Lament will be Chester Quartermain’s final book.  It is very difficult to do a project of this magnitude, and I am not getting any younger.”

Damian’s eyes widened, “Your last book?  The world will be very sad to hear that.  What will you do with your free time?”

Alfred smiled, “I think I will try reading a few books, instead of writing them.”

“When are you going to tell everyone else,” Damian asked.

“In a couple hours,” Alfred said, “It wouldn’t exactly be fair to spring that on them at the movie premier next week.”

Damian cocked his head, “How is this going to work?  Am I really Harry Quartermain?”

“You are, Master Damian.”

“Well, the second question any interviewer will ask you is about my identity.  You have to tell them not to expect written works from me.”

Alfred nodded, “I will have to remember that, Master Damian.”

Damian sighed, “I hate the press.  I won’t do interviews, Alfred.”

Alfred nodded again, “I will only do one.  I’m sure they will stretch it out as long as possible, but my agreement is for one, and only one, interview.  Would you like to accompany me when I go, Master Damian?”

Damian recoiled back, “Absolutely not!  No one’s putting _me_ on camera.”

Alfred couldn’t quite hide his sigh, “Very well, young sir.”

 _I shouldn’t have reacted like that,_ Damian thought.  _I think he actually wants me there._   “Well, maybe I can stay backstage?  You know, for moral support?”

“I would appreciate that, Master Damian,” Alfred said.

Damian eyed the butler, and could tell that Alfred would try to get Damian up on stage with him during the interview at one point or another.

“Why did you bring three copies in with you, Master Damian?”

Damian looked down at the books, “One is mine.  The other…well, I was hoping I could keep the set going, and get a signed copy for Robin?”

Alfred smiled, “Of course, young sir.  I shall get that in the mail to her first thing Monday morning.”

Damian smiled, “Thank you, Alfred.  I’ll text her to not pick up a copy yet.  Have you decided how you’re going to tell the family yet?”

“I’ll come up with something, Master Damian.  Why don’t you run along and get reading?  I’m sure you are a couple chapters behind your brothers at this point.”

Damian shrugged, “I already read the first twenty chapters, remember?”

Alfred smirked at the teen, “Did you?”

Damian eyed the older man warily, “You changed them?”

“In finalizing some editing, I thought a couple additions and subtractions were in order.”

Damian gasped, “I have to go.”

Damian picked up one copy of the book and hurried towards the door, before stopping and walking back to Alfred, “Congratulations, Alfred.  This is bound to be another hit for you.”

“Thank you, Master Damian,” Alfred said, surprised at the genuine smile and kind tone in the teen’s voice.

_Two Hours Later…_

Alfred stuck his head into Bruce’s study and smiled.  Bruce was sitting on one end of the couch, holding the book in one hand, while the fingers of his other hand lazily combed through Damian’s hair.  Damian was laying on his stomach on the couch, with his book propped up on Bruce’s leg.

Alfred closed the door behind him and cleared his throat.  Bruce looked up and Damian rolled to look at the butler.

“Gentlemen, might I ask how far you are into your books?”

“Page one hundred forty-six,” Damian said.

“I just finished chapter sixteen,” Bruce said.

Alfred smiled, “You are catching up, Master Damian.”

“It’s impossible not to read this book fast, Alfred,” Damian said, “The story sucks you in, and those changes make it so much better.”

“Thank you, Master Damian,” Alfred said, “If you both can tear yourselves away from the story for a second, it is time for a difficult conversation.”

Bruce and Damian looked concerned, until Bruce thought about it, “You’re going to tell the boys?”

“I am, sir.”

“How is that going to be difficult,” Damian asked.

Alfred shook his head, “It won’t be difficult for me.  It will be difficult for you two.  You see, you both did as I asked, and kept this secret.  Master Dick, Master Jason, and Master Timothy might not take that news too well.”

Damian sat up and shrugged, “That’s their fault for not figuring it out.  They’re supposed to be detectives.”

Alfred hid a smile, “Den, please, gentlemen.”

Bruce and Damian were the last ones to gather in the den at Alfred’s summons.  Damian took a seat on the couch next to Tim and Dick, while Bruce stood behind the couch.  Jason was still sitting in the recliner as Alfred stood in front of the coffee table.

“Gentlemen, as you know, next Friday is the film premier for Festival of Peril.  You should know that I have secured invitations for all of you.”

There was a general murmur of happiness, and Dick asked, “How did you manage that, Alfred?”

“It’s a bit of a story, actually,” Alfred said nervously, “I guess the easiest way to do this is to just come out and tell you.  I have been keeping a secret from all of you for the past quarter century.”

“You’re still a spy,” Jason said, “I knew it.”

Alfred smiled and thought, _no one ever leaves the British Secret Service, but I can’t tell them that._   “I am retired, Master Jason.  However, this does have to do with my free time.  I have a hobby that none of you know about, and it has become a moderately successful side business.  I’ve done a bit of writing in my spare time, and have been able to get published.”

“Good for you, Alfred,” Tim said excitedly.

Dick looked concerned, “What does this mean?  Are you leaving us?”

 _Of course, he would ask that._   Alfred shook his head, “Nothing of the sort, Master Dick.”

“Can we read what you wrote,” Dick asked.

Alfred took a breath, “You already have.  You see, I write under an assumed name.  Well…I am Chester Quartermain.”

The den fell silent as Alfred waited for the news to soak in.  He could see the gradual change on the faces of his middle charges.  Jason just stared.  Tim looked like he didn’t believe his ears.  Damian kept reading the book.  Bruce kept watch, amused at the reaction.

Dick finally found his voice, “Which Chester Quartermain?”  He held up the book and pointed at the cover, “This Chester Quartermain?”

“Yes, Master Dick.”

“I can’t believe this,” Jason said.

Tim was unable to speak, but pointed at Jason and nodded.

Dick sputtered, “What?  When?  How?”

“I found a bit of inspiration, and was encouraged to run with it.”  Alfred smiled, “I never thought my books would take off in the way they have.”

Tim finally found his voice, “Wait.  You found an inspiration?  Are _we_ the Wyatt’s?”

Alfred blushed a bit, “I hope you aren’t upset, Master Timothy.  I have always tried to treat my characters with love and respect.”

Jason shook his head, “So, I’m James?  That would make Tim Matt, Dick is Rod, and the squirt is this new Ezra?”

Damian rolled his eyes and mumbled, “I have a name, ass.”

Dick looked over at Damian, “Why aren’t you saying anything, Damian?  This is one of those situations where you would normally be calling foul, saying you’ll never trust anyone again, and storming off to your room.”

Damian shrugged, “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Not that big a deal,” Tim exclaimed, “You were just told that Alfred is the most popular writer of the last twenty-five years.”

Dick eyed his little brother, “Wait.  _Were_ you just told that Alfred is a famous writer?”

Damian glanced up at Alfred, who gave a small nod, “It’s not the big mystery you seem to think it is.  I figured it out a year ago.  Alfred and I have been talking about his works since then.”

“Why didn’t you tell any of us,” Dick asked desperately, once he had picked his jaw up off the floor.

“Alfred asked me not to,” Damian said simply.

“You don’t do that to us, Damian,” Tim said, “We’re brothers.”

“And he’s Alfred,” Damian said sharply.  “He trusted me to keep my mouth shut.  Alfred asked me to do something, and I did it, no questions asked.”

Dick looked astonished, “You’ve known for a year?  That means,” Dick looked up at Alfred, “Am I sitting next to Harry Quartermain?”

“You are, Master Dick,” Alfred said, “Master Damian’s input was vital in breaking a writer’s block that had lasted for almost two years.  Do not get upset with your brother.  He didn’t know I was going to have him listed on the cover.”

“Don’t you have anything to say about this, Bruce,” Tim asked.

Bruce held up his hands defensively, “Leave me out of this.”

“You knew, too,” Dick almost shouted.

“Calm down, Grayson,” Damian said, in an annoyed tone.

Bruce said, “Alfred told you that he found inspiration and got encouragement.  Who do you think he got the encouragement from?”

“I can’t believe you two have kept this from me for the entire time I’ve lived here,” Dick said, sounding betrayed.

Damian took his feet off of the coffee table and crossed them under him, “I guess there’s just storming off to your room left.”

Dick glanced at his brother, realizing he was acting exactly how he had predicted Damian would.  Dick took a breath and leaned back, trying to relax.

Alfred looked over his charges before saying, “Now, as I was saying, I was able to secure invitations for all of you for the movie premier.  You will be my plus one, or, plus five, as the case may be.  I am counting on all of you to assist me in preparing for the event.  There will be large amounts of press at the premier, trying for interviews.  I have agreed to give one, and only one, official interview, and no one will like it.”

Bruce looked concerned, “Why do you say that, Alfred?”

Alfred took a breath, “There will be two major announcements at the interview.  First, my identity.  Second, The Cat Burglar’s Lament will be my last novel.”

Everyone in the room, save Damian, gasped at the news.

“Why, Alfred,” Dick asked, “Your books are amazing.”

“I am simply too old and too tired to contemplate beginning another writing project.  The Cat Burglar’s Lament took six years to plan and write.  I would be over eighty by the time another book could be finished.  I simply don’t have it in me.”

Tim’s jaw was shaking, “But, what if Bruce has another kid?  That wouldn’t be fair to them.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, “Believe it or not, Master Timothy, I wrote these for me, not for anyone else.  It is just a fluke that they caught on with the reading public.  I didn’t start writing with the intention of getting published.”

“Does this mean you’re leaving your works to your creative consultant,” Dick asked.

Damian nearly jumped off the couch at the suggestion, “I don’t think so.  I’m no writer.  I couldn’t put out anything that could even be sold in the same store as one of Alfred’s books.”

“Why not,” Bruce asked.

“Because they don’t sell fertilizer at book stores,” Damian said, bringing a smile to Jason’s and Bruce’s faces.

Tim shrugged, “I don’t know.  There is a lot of crap that gets published.”

The room fell silent for a minute before Dick asked, “So, you’re completely done with the Wyatt’s?”

“For new works,” Alfred said, “I have agreed to write the scripts for future film adaptations of my existing works, though.”

“Have you seen the movie yet,” Jason asked.

Alfred shook his head, “I will see it at the same time as everyone else.”

“What happens if it sucks,” Dick asked nervously.

Everyone turned to stare at Dick in shock.

“Why would you say that, Chum,” Bruce asked.

“We all know the current state of Hollywood,” Dick said, “Festival of Peril was written twenty-five years ago, and not through a liberal lens.  Who knows what they changed in order to get it on the screen?  Sorry, Alfred, but I don’t think you’re ‘woke’ enough for mainstream Hollywood.”

Alfred gave a small smile, “Master Dick, you are well aware that the only ‘woke’ I am concerned about is what time I woke up this morning to do my job.  They changed very little of the story, actually.  I did write the final draft of the script, and all of their changes were approved by me before they were committed to film.”

“But you haven’t seen the final product yet,” Dick said.

“No, I have not.”

Tim sighed, “This is so much to take in, Alfred.”

“That is why I wanted you to know now,” Alfred said, “Instead of when we show up at the premier and all the cameras point in our direction.”

“How are they going to know you are you…or the author…or, whatever, if you’re only giving one interview,” Tim asked.

Alfred smiled, “The interview is scheduled for Wednesday.  The premier isn’t until Friday.  The interview will have been broadcast several times by the time we arrive at the theater.”

“Wednesday, huh,” Bruce said, “If we didn’t have that all-day meeting, we could have gone with you.”

 _That is precisely why I had the publishing company schedule the interview for Wednesday,_ Alfred thought.  _I’m fairly certain you are aware of that, Master Bruce._   “Master Damian has volunteered to accompany me, for moral support.”

Bruce eyed his youngest.  _Alfred will find a way to drag Damian onto television.  He’s pretty good at talking my boy into doing things._   “Well, it’s a good thing we have an unlisted phone number.  You’re going to have to sign a copy of your book for Jean, though.  She’s going to be pretty upset that I didn’t tell her about this before.”

Jason nodded, “Yeah, can I request the first ever autographed copy of your books?”

“I’m afraid not, Master Jason,” Alfred said.

“Why not,” Jason asked.

Damian smirked, “He signed copies for Robin months ago.  She has the first signed copies.”

Tim looked ready to burst, “You told your girlfriend, but not your brothers?  What happened to ‘Alfred told me to keep my mouth shut, so I did’?”

“Alfred told me I could tell her, and no one else,” Damian said, “Besides, she does things for me that you don’t.”

“More like, she does things _to_ you that Tim _won’t_ ,” Dick said.

Damian sighed deeply, “And she threatened to stop completely after I surprised her with the signed books, if I didn’t tell her who Chester Quartermain is.”

“Okay, okay,” Tim said, “so, now what?”

“Now,” Alfred said, “enjoy the rest of the book.  Please, keep this news to yourselves until the interview airs.  You will all be able to see it, even with your busy schedules.  We tape at noon, but it won’t air until seven o’clock.  I daresay we all will be bombarded with inquiries after the news breaks.”

_Wednesday…_

“Are you sure you’re okay, Alfred,” Damian asked as they pulled up outside of the recording studio in northeast Gotham, “You haven’t looked this nervous…well, ever.”

Alfred took a breath, “I am not used to being the center of attention.  This is a bit out of my depth.”

Damian smiled, “You’ll be fine, Alfred.  Think of it this way.  They already like you.  You aren’t trying to convince them to try a new book.  They already like your books.  They just want to talk about your writing process, your inspirations, and how much they like your works.  The new book hit number one on every best seller’s list around the world fifteen minutes after it went on sale.  It’s about time you got the credit you deserve.”

“Thank you, Master Damian,” Alfred said with a sigh, “Shall we get this over with?”

“Once you stop calling me Master,” Damian said, “It’ll just be easier if you don’t have to explain the title on television.”

Alfred nodded, “Perhaps you’re right, Mas…Damian.”

 _Wow, that sounds weird,_ Damian thought.  _This must be what it sounded like to others when I stopped calling everyone by their last names._

Alfred and Damian left the car and approached the studio.  They were met at the door by a production assistant, a woman in her early twenties.  “Mr. Quartermain?”

Alfred gave a small, yet pleasant smile, “Yes, Miss.  I am Chester Quartermain.”

Alfred pondered how strange it felt to say that as the young woman flushed, “The publishing company told us to expect an older gentleman.  They didn’t say anything about a guest.”

“It was a last-minute decision,” Alfred said, then smirked to himself, “This is my creative consultant.”

The woman gasped, “Harry Quartermain is just a kid!?!”

“I’m fifteen,” Damian grumbled.

“My name is Brittany.  I’ll be your escort and liaison for today.  If you need anything, please let me know.  Please, follow me.”

Alfred and Damian entered the building as Brittany held the door.  They both smiled as they heard the woman hiss into her radio, “He’s here!  He’s really here!”

Brittany walked quickly up to stand next to Alfred, “Your dressing room is just up here.  Hair and make-up will be in to work on you in a minute.  It doesn’t look like hair will have much to do, though.  Neither will wardrobe.  I think you two are dressed better than the host.  Now, will you be appearing on the interview as well, Mr. Quartermain?”

Damian looked up at Alfred, who said, “I don’t believe that has been decided yet.  How long before the interview?”

Brittany checked her watch, “We can go whenever you’re ready.  It’s not going out live, so timing isn’t as important as a live interview would be.”

A man walked into the dressing room and smiled at Alfred, “I’m Howard Graham, entertainment reporter for the Channel 3 news.  Thank you so much for granting this interview.  I promise, I’ll go easy.  Congratulations on your new book.  It’s amazing; I spent all weekend reading it.”

Alfred shook the man’s hand, “Thank you, Mr. Graham.  I must say, all of this is quite overwhelming.”

“It’s a piece of cake,” Howard said, handing over a piece of paper.  “Here are the questions we cleared through your publisher.  Look them over.  If you see anything on there you don’t like, just let us know.  Who do we have here, Mr. Quartermain?”

Howard was looking at Damian, and Alfred said, “My Creative Consultant.”

Howard’s eyes flashed in recognition, “Ah, the newly infamous Harry Quartermain.  I didn’t know you would be joining us today.”

 _What you meant to say was you didn’t know I’m so young,_ Damian thought.  “I’m not sure I will,” Damian said.

Howard turned back to Alfred, “Now, the publishing company did tell us that Chester Quartermain is not your real name, but they didn’t tell us what your real name is.  Will you be revealing that today?”

“I will,” Alfred said.

“Great,” Howard said, “Do you want us to introduce you by name, or do it as a reveal for your first question?”

“I suppose you can introduce me,” Alfred said, “It might make things go a little easier.”

Howard shook his head, “I swear, you look so familiar.  Have we met?  Have I seen you around town before?”

“It’s entirely possible,” Alfred said, “I’ve lived in Gotham City for fifty years.”

Damian rolled his eyes, “Just tell him who you are.  The guy is ready to have a nervous breakdown if you stretch it out any longer.”

Both Alfred and Damian noticed that the entire building fell silent in anticipation.  Damian gave an evil smirk as he considered walking over and closing the dressing room door, so the dozen people listening in the hall couldn’t hear.

“Very well,” Alfred said, “My…”

“Wait,” Damian interrupted, smiling at the groan heard from the hall, “Did the publisher insist on a social media blackout until the interview airs?”

“Yes, they did,” Howard said.

Damian raised his voice, so everyone in the hall could hear, “Was that information passed to all of your staff in the building?”

“Is this really a problem,” Howard asked, wanting to get to the reveal.

“It was a condition for the interview,” Damian said firmly, “We can take this to another channel, if you and your staff feel like leaking anything.  I believe the local office of CNN is just down the street.”

Howard Graham could feel the biggest exclusive of his career slipping away.  His eyes widened, and he yelped, “No!  That won’t be necessary.”

Howard sprang out of his chair and hurried to the dressing room door, “Everyone, go away!  Shoo!  All cameras off, all phones put away.  Go, now!”

Alfred shot a weary look at Damian, who just smiled.

Howard closed the door and walked back to man and boy, “So, you were saying?”

Howard’s eagerness was palpable.  Alfred smiled, “My name is Alfred Pennyworth.”

Howard stared for a second, “I know that name from somewhere.”  He turned to Damian and asked, “So, Harry Quartermain, are you Harry Pennyworth?"

Damian rolled his eyes, “Damian Wayne.”

Howard gasped, “That’s where I know your name.  You’re Bruce Wayne’s butler!  That’s incredible.”

Alfred tried his best to hide his growing nerves.  _This interview was a bad idea.  I’m not ready for this._   “Mr. Graham, may I have a few minutes to review the questions, please?”

The interviewer nodded, “Of course.  Hair and make-up will be right in.  Just let us know when you’re ready.”

Howard left, and Alfred turned to Damian, “I’m not sure I can do this, Master Damian.  I don’t think I’m cut out for the spotlight.”

Damian took a breath and nodded, “That interviewer is a little pushy.  It’s a bit late to back out now, though.  Now that he knows our names, we pretty much have to go through with it.”

Alfred gave a slow nod as he though about the situation he was putting himself in, then looked up at Damian in shock.  “We, Master Damian?”

Damian nodded, “The second he heard my name, he started plotting ways to get both of us on stage.  If I go up there voluntarily, I can control how this interview goes for both of us.”

“Thank you, Master Damian,” Alfred said with relief in his voice as he reviewed the questions.

“Remember,” Damian said, “don’t call me Master on camera.”

“I’ll try,” Alfred said, “I don’t see anything on here that is too objectionable.”

A knock sounded on the door, and a woman stuck her head into the room, “Hello, you two.  I’m Bernadette.  I’m here for your make-up.”

“Please, come in,” Alfred said, handing the paper to Damian, to review the questions.

Alfred sat in the make-up chair as the woman started her work.  Alfred looked at Damian in the mirror, “If you’re coming on the interview, it’s a good thing you dressed appropriately.”

Bernadette looked over at the young man, “They didn’t tell me I had two victims.”

Damian nodded, realizing that the woman was just trying to be friendly, “We didn’t know, either, until just a few minutes ago.”

She eyed Damian before turning back to Alfred, “You have such a nice skin tone, it will almost be a shame to put make-up on it.”

Damian shrugged, “I can put up with it.  We’re not here for me today.”

Alfred got out of the chair when his make-up was done, and Damian took his place.

“Is this your first time on television,” Bernadette asked both men.

Damian snorted, “Do paparazzi tapes count?”

“Not to me,” Bernadette said with scorn in her voice.  Damian laughed as Bernadette finished her work.  “Okay, you two.  Good luck out there.  Howard may come across as a blow-hard, but he’s really a nice guy.  He’ll treat you right.”

Bernadette left the room, and was soon replaced by Brittany.  The production assistant asked, “Are you all set, Mr. Quartermain?”

Alfred looked at Damian, then back to Brittany, “Yes, we are.”

Brittany’s smile grew, “We?  Is this an interview for two?”

Damian took a breath, “I’ve agreed to join in.”

“That’s great,” Brittany said, “Follow me, please.”

Brittany led the way out of the dressing room, while saying into her radio, “Moving to the set now.”

Alfred and Damian had to stop themselves from giggling.  The journey consisted of all of two hallways and two right turns, a trip of approximately forty-six feet.  People got out of their way as the trio passed.  They either openly gawked, glanced reverently, or averted their eyes.  Alfred was having a hard time understanding the treatment.

The trio entered the set and a hush fell over the room.  The men were led directly on stage, where they found three chairs set up.

“How did they…” Damian started.

Howard walked up behind Alfred and Damian and said, “I had them put out three chairs.  Are we going to need all three, or should I have them take one away?  It’s completely up to you.”

Alfred eyed Damian, who said, “You can keep all three.”

Howard smiled, “Excellent.  How did you talk him into it, Mr. Pennyworth?”

Alfred looked a bit bashful when he said, “I am fairly nervous for this.  Damian has agreed for moral support.  Since you now know who I am, I believe you are aware that I normally actively stay out of the spotlight.  I am not comfortable doing this.”

Howard nodded, “Then, we’ll take this nice and slow.  How did the questions look to you?”

Alfred held still as a technician outfitted him and Damian with microphones, “They are acceptable.”

The trio sat down, and Damian pushed his chair back a bit.  A director spoke over a loudspeaker, “Can you not move the chairs, please?”

“I’m just making sure you can see the real person you’re supposed to be interviewing,” Damian said.

“That’s why the cameras move,” the director said, “We’ll move around you.”

Damian sighed, “Just remember, I’m not the one in the spotlight here.”

Final preparations were made, lights were set, and action was called.  Howard turned to look directly at one of the cameras and started the interview.

“Good evening, America.  I am Howard Graham, Channel 3 Gotham City entertainment reporter, and it is my distinct pleasure this evening to present this very special program.  With me tonight is our very special guest, Chester Quartermain, and the literary world’s newest mystery, Harry Quartermain.  For the first time ever, the true identity of this mysterious mystery author can be revealed.  Now, it is my pleasure to introduce to the world Chester and Harry Quartermain, also known as Alfred Pennyworth and Damian Wayne.”

For some reason, Damian was expecting some sort of round of applause, even though there was no audience for this interview.  A red light on top of the camera pointed at Alfred and Damian lit up, catching the attention of the men and causing them to look directly into the camera.

Howard spoke up, catching Alfred’s and Damian’s attention again, “Mr. Pennyworth, thank you for joining me today.  First off, congratulations on your career so far.  The Cat Burglar’s Lament has been on store shelves for five days now, and it is number one on best seller lists worldwide.  Tell me, why the secret release?”

Alfred gave a soft smile, “I wanted it to be a surprise.  Plus, it gives a little more advertising for the movie.”

“Were you involved in the moviemaking process,” Howard asked, taking the turn that Alfred offered, “No one involved in the moviemaking process can recall ever seeing you or meeting you.”

“I wrote the script,” Alfred said, “Other than that, I left it up to the professionals.”

Howard nodded, “I see.  So, it is true that you never went to the set?”

Alfred shook his head, “I don’t even know where the set was.”

Howard smiled, “Getting back to your books.  Why such long gaps between novels?”

Alfred thought for a second, “Writing is not my job, it is my hobby.  I’m not doing this to earn a living.  In fact, half of all my earnings from the novels is directed straight to a number of charities.”

“We were talking backstage, and you told me you have another job.  Is that what kept you from releasing more works in your series?”

Alfred really didn’t like how that question was phrased, or where the question could lead, “It does keep me fairly busy, but I do have ample time to myself.”

“Is it okay if we tell the world what you do, Mr. Pennyworth,” Howard asked.

Alfred shrugged, “I am proud of my life’s work, and what I’ve accomplished, so I have no problem in revealing that I am a butler by trade.”

“A butler for Damian’s father, in fact,” Howard pointed out.

Alfred nodded, “I have served the Wayne family for just over fifty years, at this point.  I enjoy my work, which is why I still do it.”

“What does Mr. Wayne have to say about your hobby,” Howard asked.

Alfred smiled at the question, “Mr. Wayne has always been very supportive of my writing.  He was the one who first encouraged me to send Festival of Peril to a publisher.  Without his suggestion, my works would have never seen the light of day.”

“How much of his influence did he use to get your books in stores,” Howard asked.  “For those of you watching who don’t know, Bruce Wayne, Mr. Pennyworth’s employer, is a very successful, and very rich, businessman in Gotham City.”

Alfred could see, out of the corner of his eye, that Damian was trying desperately not to react to the way the question was phrased.  “None at all, actually,” Alfred said.  “Like I said, this is my hobby.  I let Mr. Wayne read Festival of Peril when it was completed.  He encouraged me to send it to a publisher.  I thought about that possibility for a good four months before submitting my manuscript.  I didn’t tell Mr. Wayne that it had been picked up for publishing until just before the novel’s release.  I never dreamed I would actually get published.”

Howard started laughing, and Alfred and Damian stared at the man strangely.  Alfred asked, “I’m sorry, are you alright, Mr. Graham?”

The reporter tried to compose himself, “I’m sorry, I just thought of something.  You are the ultimate mystery trope.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Mr. Graham.”

The interviewer was still smiling as he explained, “The biggest literary mystery of the last quarter century is who is the most popular mystery author of the late twentieth and early twenty-first century.  Who wrote the books?  The answer is, The Butler Did It.”

Damian snorted a laugh that he knew Alfred would call him on later.  Fortunately, one of the cameramen was laughing, too.

“I suppose that is the case,” Alfred said.

Howard turned to look at Damian, “Let’s turn to Mr. Quartermain, junior, for a second.  What led up to your inclusion on the cover of The Cat Burglar’s Lament?”

Damian shrugged, “You’ll have to ask Alfred the reasoning behind that.  I didn’t find out about it until the book released on Saturday.”

“Mr. Pennyworth?”

Alfred leaned back in his chair a bit and smiled softly, “I finished writing Emails with The Devil knowing I wanted to write a fourth book.  I took some time away before I started brainstorming new ideas.  I had a few, but nothing good enough for a full-length novel.  I was stuck.  My writing process ground to a complete halt.  Then, one evening, around the time of the announcement of the start of production for Festival of Peril’s film adaptation, Damian came to me to talk about my books.  You see, Mr. Wayne was the first and only person I told about my little hobby.  I didn’t tell his sons that I am a published author.  Damian figured it out on his own, and came to me for confirmation.”

Howard turned back to Damian, “How did you figure it out, Damian?”

Damian shrugged, “Little things.  Things you would have to know Alfred to pick up on.”

“Can you give us an example,” Howard asked.

Damian thought for a second, “I believe I was in the middle of Monastery of Doom at the time, and the characters seemed a little…familiar.  Some of the sayings and phrasings the characters used sounded like things my Father or brothers would say.  Oh, and the inner voice, too.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Howard said.

“Your inner voice,” Damian said, “The way things sound in your head when you read something.  For example, have you ever read the novelization of Star Wars?”

Howard shook his head, “I don’t think I have.”

“That’s okay,” Damian said, “You don’t have to in order to understand my point.  Everyone knows what Harrison Ford’s voice sounds like.  If you read a line of dialogue which is attributed to Han Solo, your mind will automatically make you imagine the line in Harrison Ford’s voice.”

Howard nodded, “I get it now, and you’re right.  When I read The DaVinci Code, I would hear Tom Hanks’ voice.”

Damian grinned, “Exactly.  When I was reading the Quartermain books, the narrator’s voice, in my mind, was always Alfred’s voice.  It just made sense to me.”

Alfred gave a small smile.  Damian hadn’t told him that before.

“I see,” Howard said, “So, you figured it out, and got cover billing?”

“Not exactly,” Alfred said.  “As we started talking about my past works, new ideas started circulating in my mind.  I allowed Damian to see some of my works in progress, and he gave me some constructive feedback.  Some small hints, really.  Taking a plot point in one direction, instead of another.  Changing the wording of a line here and there.  Soon, I found myself writing again.  I abandoned those earlier works and started a completely new tale, which is now The Cat Burglar’s Lament.  What Damian really did is help me break a writer’s block which had lasted for over two years.  His inclusion was a last-minute whim of mine, which Damian was not informed of, as he said, until the novel released.”

“That’s an amazing story,” Howard said, “And it seems the world owes you thanks, Damian.  Mr. Pennyworth, after a quarter century of writing amazing works of fiction anonymously, why are you choosing now to come forward and identify yourself?”

Alfred took a deep breath, _it’s time to drop my bomb._   “I have chosen this time for two reasons.  First, Friday’s release of the film adaptation of Festival of Peril.  It feels like we are going back to the beginning with that.  Second, I have chosen to speak up to make an announcement.  I have seen the research and speculation over my identity since the release of my first work.  It is a diversion, but the guesses keep getting wilder.  Look at me.  I am an old man.  Putting these novels together takes quite a lot of time and energy, and I just don’t have it in me anymore.  There were times where I thought I would never finish The Cat Burglar’s Lament.  So, I am hanging up my pen.  The Cat Burglar’s Lament will be the final book from Chester Quartermain.”

The entire studio gasped in shock at the announcement.  Damian eyed Alfred, wondering if the same reaction will happen in living rooms around the world once the interview airs.

It took a minute before Howard could get his mind started again.  This interview had just taken a turn into Pulitzer territory.

“So, what does this mean?  And, what about possible future movies of your works?”

Alfred took a breath, “I have agreed to write scripts for my existing works, but I am not pursuing new material.”

“Not pursuing new material, or not pursuing new material at this time,” Howard asked.

“Perhaps both.  Perhaps neither,” Alfred said, “When I wrote my first three novels, the work flowed very smoothly.  The Cat Burglar’s Lament was an arduous process.  It took every bit of my free time and every bit of the six-year gap between books to write.  If another book took that long, or longer, to write, I would be over eighty before it saw the light of day.”

Howard swallowed, “Is there anything the world can do to change your mind?”

Alfred shook his head, “Nothing comes to mind.  You have to remember; I didn’t get into writing to become a successful novelist.  I never thought my books would sell, or even get published.  That wasn’t what I was looking for when I started.  I never even originally planned on writing more than one book.  This is something I did in my spare time, as a hobby.  I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, and I’m thankful for everyone who has read and enjoyed my works.”

Howard turned to Damian, “How about future generations?  Would you allow your creative consultant to pick up where you’re leaving off?”

Damian shook his head, “Good god, no.  I would never ruin Alfred’s good name like that.”

“You wouldn’t even try,” Howard asked.

“I’m no writer,” Damian said.

“You can’t be that bad,” Howard said, “especially with someone as accomplished as Mr. Pennyworth looking over your shoulder.”

Damian smirked, “My girlfriend said my last love letter to her sounded more like a ransom demand.  Yes, I _can_ be that bad.”

Alfred smiled, “If any of my charges were to choose to pick up where I am leaving off, I would encourage them in the same manner in which I have been encouraged.  None of my charges have stepped up to take that mantle.”

“And, how about authors outside of the family,” Howard asked.

Alfred shrugged, “I do hold the rights to my characters, and the agreement extends for twenty years after my eventual death.  Certain actions and precautions are spelled out in my will.”

Howard said, “You’re very protective of your creation.”

Alfred nodded, “Yes, I am.  I have become aware of something recently called ‘fan-fiction’.  I must say that I am not pleased with some of the depictions of my characters.”

“If you were to ever write another book, what would you want to write?”

Alfred thought for a second, “That’s hard to say.  I have had several ideas over the years.  Only the good ones have made it to print.”

Damian looked over and asked, “Why don’t you try writing a cook book?  You could probably sell just as many of those as your novels.”

Howard brightened, “Well, there’s hope for the future yet.  Mr. Pennyworth, I want to thank you for coming today and putting to rest this mystery.  It has been my distinct pleasure to meet both of you today.  I’m Howard Graham, and this has been a Channel 3 Gotham news exclusive.  Good night.”

A director called out, “And…we’re clear.  Good job, everyone.”

“Are we done,” Alfred asked.

Howard smiled, “All done.”

Alfred heaved a sigh, “Good.  This is why I agreed to only do one interview.  That was too much for me.”

“You two did great,” Howard said, “However, after that bombshell you just dropped, you can expect the interview requests to come flooding in.”

“We have an unlisted phone number for just that reason,” Alfred said.

“Anything can be found on the internet,” Howard said, “Even unlisted phone numbers.”

Brittany walked onto the set with a smile on her face, “That was great.  Thank you so much.  We’ll get those microphones off of you two and cut you loose.  If you’re willing, some of the staff, most of the staff actually, are big fans of yours.  It would really mean a lot to them if you would sign a few autographs.  You’ve said several times today that this is overwhelming for you.  If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

Alfred looked at Damian, who shrugged, “It’s up to you, Alfred.”

Alfred thought for a minute, “I suppose that is agreeable.  I see that stack of books over there.  Can we limit it to one item per person, please?  I do have other things to do today.”

Alfred spent the next two hours signing autographs and shaking hands with his fans in the studio.  He thought that it couldn’t possibly take this many people to produce an interview, and he was right.  Glancing up, he saw people coming in from other studios after hearing about the autograph session.  Growing tired and frustrated, yet trying to remain polite, Alfred finally just handed the pen back to Brittany and walked out of the studio, leaving Damian hustling to catch up.

The car was several blocks down the road before either occupant spoke.

“I will not be doing that again on Friday,” Alfred said testily.

“You might not be asked to,” Damian said, “depending on how the reaction to the interview goes.  There are going to be a lot of upset people after they find out that you’re retiring from writing.”

Alfred gave a small smile, “I’m sure many of them will be at my publisher’s office.”

“You didn’t even warn them,” Damian asked.

“I did not,” Alfred said.  “I have always had a good relationship with my publisher in the past.  I have asked to be left alone after my previous works were published, and they have respected my wishes, for the most part.”

“Are you really done writing,” Damian asked in a soft voice.

Alfred thought for a minute, “During the interview, when talking about my works that never saw the light of day, I had an idea to do a short story collection.  Perhaps I could put something like that together.  I think I have pretty much committed myself to retirement with today’s interview, though.”

“I guess so,” Damian said.

Alfred smiled at Damian as they turned into the manor’s driveway, “How would Harry Quartermain like his first author credit for a collection of Wyatt family short stories?”

Damian shook his head, “No one would believe I wrote it, after what I said in the interview.”

“Then, perhaps an editor or compiler credit?”

“Maybe,” Damian said with a smile.

“Speaking of what you said in the interview,” Alfred said, “Did Miss Robin actually say that your expression of your feelings sounded like a ransom demand?”

Damian sighed as he got out of the parked car, “She did, and I’m going to get an earful for saying that on National TV.”

_The Following Day…_

Alfred cringed as the phone rang around eleven in the morning.  Alfred had told the family to start calling his cell phone, so he would know it was them and actually answer.  Any calls on the house line were now treated as suspect.

Their unlisted number had been leaked within an hour of the interview airing.  There had been a flood of calls from the society set, trying to ingratiate themselves closer to the butler, a dozen and a half angry calls, yelling about Chester Quartermain’s retirement, and three dozen calls from reporters from around the world, asking for interviews.

Alfred walked to the phone in the hall, wondering why he didn’t just pick up the extension in the kitchen.  He was quite surprised to see Damian pick up the receiver he had been walking towards.

“Wayne Residence.  No interviews.”

Alfred eyed the boy, thankful that the teen had saved him from having to answer yet another call.

“Right.  Hold on a minute.”

Damian put the phone down and turned.  His eyes widened a bit to find Alfred standing behind him.  He hadn’t heard the butler approaching.

“Oh, phone for you, Alfred.”

“Who is it, Master Damian?”

Damian smirked as he walked out of the way, “A reporter.”

Alfred sighed as he picked up the phone, “This is Alfred Pennyworth.”

A familiar voice sounded through the receiver, “A major announcement like this, and you give the exclusive to someone else?”

A smile crossed Alfred’s face as he recognized Clark Kent’s voice.  “My publisher set up the interview, Mr. Kent.  I had nothing to do with it.  Also, you are a newspaper reporter.  I believe, if they could get away with it, my publisher would have made the interview pay-per-view, but they settled on television.  Now, I’m wishing I hadn’t done the interview at all.”

Clark smiled, “Telling the world to kiss off brings out strong reactions, but it hasn’t hurt sales at all.  If anything, the numbers have just gone up.”

“That has never been the top concern for me, Mr. Kent.”

“I’ve got to say; I’ve enjoyed your books for years.  I have just one question, though.”

Alfred sighed, “Will my answer end up on the front page of the Daily Planet?”

“No,” Clark said, “This is just for me.”

“Then, what is your question, Mr. Kent,” Alfred asked.

“Do I know the Wyatt’s,” Clark asked nervously.

“Of course, you do,” Alfred said, “You said you’ve been reading my works for years.  You ought to be quite familiar with the characters by now.”

“You know what I mean, Alfred,” Clark said.

“I do know what you mean,” Alfred said.  “Let me tell you a secret, Mr. Kent.  My first book was something I did on a whim.  It was to be a present for Master Dick, when he got to be a little older than he was when Master Bruce took him in.  I never intended to publish it, until Master Bruce insisted I send it to a publisher.  Festival of Peril is Master Dick’s story, altered to suit an audience not suited in capes.”

“Wow,” Clark said, “So, Dick has known he was immortalized in the printed word all this time?”

Alfred smiled, “No, Mr. Kent.  He only found out on Saturday.  You see, once the novel was published, I still wanted him to wait until he was a little older to read it.  Master Dick took an inordinately long time to heal from the loss of his parents.  In fact, I would say that he still hasn’t healed.  Reading a story so close to his own, so soon after the event, I didn’t know how he would react to it.”

“How did he react, the first time he read it,” Clark asked, hanging on every word.

Alfred thought back, “Master Bruce let Master Dick read the book when he was a bit younger than I would have liked.  The first reading hurt him deeply.  He caught the similarities to his own history, and it took him a long time to come to terms with it.  It was at that point when I chose to remain anonymous as the author.  However, for as much as it hurt him, it also helped him.  He continued to read Festival of Peril, over and over.  It helped him come to terms with his own tragedy.  I actually haven’t had a chance to speak with Master Dick about his thoughts since he found out the novel is his.”

Clark sighed, “I still can’t believe you kept this a secret for so long.”

“I am known for keeping secrets, Mr. Kent,” Alfred said.

“I guess you are,” Clark chuckled, “Congratulations on your successful career, Alfred.”

“It has always been a hobby, Mr. Kent.”

Clark asked, “Are you still good with watching Jon on Saturday?”

Alfred smiled, “Master Damian is quite looking forward to it.”

“Jon will probably be over as soon as we tie him down and force him to finish his breakfast,” Clark said, “You can send him home any time Sunday afternoon.”

“Master Jonathan is always welcome, Mr. Kent,” Alfred said, “Knowing those two boys, he will most likely be home close to bedtime.”

“Well, Jon has school Monday, so keep reminding him of that.  One last week before his winter break starts.  Once his break starts, he can spend all the time he wants over there, or Damian can come over here.”

Alfred nodded to himself, “We will keep it in mind, Mr. Kent.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” Clark said before hanging up.

“That’s not ending up in the paper, is it,” Damian asked from behind Alfred.

Alfred smiled as he turned, “Your weekend plans will remain unreported, Master Damian.”

“Good,” Damian said, “and before you ask, I saw Kent’s name on the caller I.D.  That’s the only reason I answered the phone.”

Alfred nodded, “I see.  How is your paper coming?”

Damian shrugged, “I’ll get it done before Father gets home from work.  I think I’ll have Father read it over before I submit it, though.  I want to make sure I’m on the right track.”

“Which class is this for again,” Alfred asked.

“Intro to Business,” Damian said, “I added a Business minor to my Engineering major at the beginning of the semester.  I just want to see if I’ve learned anything that can actually be used in the business world.”

Alfred gave a soft smile, “I think your father will rather enjoy that.”

_Friday…_

The publishing company-hired limo pulled up to Wayne Manor exactly at 6:45 to pick up the esteemed author and guests for the Gotham City premier of Festival of Peril.

Alfred had grown increasingly nervous over the week, and his nerves had only intensified since his television interview.  While the initial reaction to Alfred’s announcement had been outrage, a growing movement of support had found prevalence in the media after the initial shock wore off.  Once people realized that Alfred’s hobby might never have been brought to the literary public at all, if not for a little encouragement, the reading public decided they were lucky to have what they had.

Inside Stately Wayne Manor, in a rare reversal of roles, Bruce was helping Alfred with his tuxedo.

“I apologize, Master Bruce,” Alfred said as he tied his bowtie.

“What for, Alfred,” Bruce asked.

Bruce attached the cummerbund around Alfred’s waist as Alfred said, “I wear a suit nearly every day.  I haven’t worn a tuxedo in over thirty years.  I forgot just how uncomfortable they can be.  I don’t believe I will ask you or the boys to stop complaining when you have to wear them in the future.”

Bruce smirked, “Didn’t you wear a tux during your James Bond days?”

Alfred rolled his eyes, “How many times do I have to tell you, Master Bruce?  The real work is far dirtier than shown in those films, and not usually suitable for formal wear.”

“Just trying to get you to relax, Alfred,” Bruce said.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this evening.”

Bruce nodded, “It’s a cinch, Alfred.  You shake some hands, take some pictures, watch a movie, and go home.  We’ll let the driver know to be standing by as soon as the movie lets out.  You don’t have to answer any of the reporter’s questions if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t wish to be rude, Master Bruce,” Alfred said.

Bruce shook his head, “It’s not rude, Alfred.  It’s a red carpet, not a press conference.  There will be so many reporters shouting questions at you, I’ll be surprised if you can make any of them out.  It will turn into background noise, and give you deniability for having heard any one question clearly.”

“I’m still not comfortable with this, sir,” Alfred said.

Bruce gripped Alfred’s shoulder firmly, “The boys and I won’t leave your side, if you don’t want us to.  I’m sure the press will want a cast photo with you in it, though.”

Alfred looked surprised, “A cast photo?  Shouldn’t the cast be attending the New York or Los Angeles premiers?”

“You haven’t been watching the news, have you,” Bruce asked with a smile.

Alfred shook his head, “I have not.”

“Well, once it was announced that you would be attending the Gotham City premier, the entire cast changed their plans and will be showing up at the same premier.  Press from all over the world will be there tonight.”

“You are not helping to alleviate my nerves, Master Bruce.”

“You’ll be fine, Alfred.”

A knock at the door interrupted the chat.

“Come in,” Alfred called out.

Tim opened the door and entered the room, “The limo is here.”

Alfred froze as nerves started to take over.

“Is everyone ready,” Bruce asked.

“All set,” Tim said.

“No fighting?  No complaining?  No arguing?”

Tim shook his head at Bruce’s question, “No.  Not tonight.  We all agreed.  We’re the support crew tonight.  We’re here for you, Alfred.”

“Thank you, Master Timothy,” Alfred said.

“Tim, go get everyone in the limo,” Bruce said, “We’ll be right there.”

Tim left the room, and Bruce turned to Alfred, “Are you ready?”

“Do I have a choice, Master Bruce?”

Bruce smiled, “This _was_ your choice.  You didn’t have to come forward.  I am glad you told the boys, though.”

“It was time they knew,” Alfred said, “I suppose I will have to draft a new version of my will, now that the reveal has been done.”

“Let’s worry about that at another time,” Bruce said.  _Like never_ , Bruce thought.

Alfred looked around his rooms, “Well, I suppose we’ve put this off long enough.”

Bruce followed Alfred out of the room, out of the house, and into the waiting limousine.  Four identically clad young men were sitting quietly and waiting patiently, which instantly put Bruce on his guard.  His boys were never this quiet, unless they were trying to hide some indiscretion or another.

“Boys,” Bruce asked, “Everything okay?”

“We’re just waiting for you two,” Dick asked.

“I know,” Bruce said, “You’re quiet.  It’s making me nervous.”

“I told you he’d be suspicious,” Damian said.

“Like I said, Bruce,” Tim said, “we’re here to support Alfred.”

“You’ve done everything in the world for us,” Jason said to the butler, “It’s time we returned the favor.”

“I thank you, my young sirs,” Alfred said, “I appreciate the effort.  I will need your assistance tonight.  You have far more experience in these situations than I do.”

“We’re here for you, Alfred,” Dick said.

“How do you want this to go tonight, Alfred,” Bruce asked.

Alfred looked around at his charges, surrounding him in the back of the limo, and smiled, “I believe, with all of you around me, we can allow the night to play out as it will.”

The limo pulled up outside of the Gotham Grand Theater into a sea of humanity.  Searchlights lit up the night sky as neon signs proclaimed the evening’s event.  Flashbulbs washed out the illumination, and tried to turn night into day.  The shouts and cheers were deafening, even a block away from the theater.

“We’re here, Alfred,” Bruce said.  “All these people are here for you, and your creation.”

Alfred took a deep breath before adopting a pleasant smile, “Well, let’s not keep them waiting.  Shall we go?”

 

**A/N: A fitting end to my 2018 stories, I think.  (Even if it is four months late).  Don’t really have anything to say about this one.  I hope you liked it.**

**There is more to come…eventually.**

**Thanks for playing along.**


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